


The Kirin Tor-ment

by BurneHazard



Series: WoW Tales [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Consensual Possession, Control Issues, Demons, Denial, Domination, Dubious Consent, Humiliation, Kidnapping, M/M, Mental/Emotional Turmoil, Predicament Bondage, Rough Sex, Sexual Frustration, Submission, Violence, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-16 01:34:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8081533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurneHazard/pseuds/BurneHazard
Summary: The Legion has returned. In their hour of greatest need, the Wardens freed the Illidari they had imprisoned. Demon Hunters now walk openly--but not necessarily freely--among the peoples of Azeroth. One such hunter must now deal with being assigned a keeper from the ranks of the Kirin Tor. The only remaining question is what might kill the mage first: the Legion or the Demon Hunter?





	1. Have a Headache

            He just could not figure it out. Turn it over in his mind, analyze every gesture and look, consider every word, yet he could not figure it out. And as he lay there staring up at nothing, Jarethien felt his frustration grow. Not that the soft snores from the form barely a foot away helped. That noise just served to remind him of his current headache. And through it all was the annoying laughter of the demon in the back of his mind as it enjoyed his dilemma. Despite the chaos of building feelings it was rather nice to have the demon too distracted by mirth to claw at his thoughts.

            It also meant he had no true distraction from his own thoughts either. That would have been dangerous in any other situation. But the rain outside their little makeshift shelter was too thick and too cold for much of anything to stir. Even demons and their ilk had some sensibilities. And if he had any true sense, he would have been asleep just like the mage slumbering nearby. Perhaps it was best he did not sleep however, as if his thoughts would permit. He had been trying to sleep for three hours without success.

            Finally, frustration was permitted to win out. Rising silently, Jarethien slipped out of the little hut-tent thing the mage had rigged up. It was really just some branches thrown across rocks and then enchanted into a solid covering keeping the rain off of them. The rain struck his skin like a blizzard's wrath. Shivering, his shuddering flesh sent the first drenching deluge flying in a fine shower. It brought warmth to the thick hide and the shivers stopped as he straightened to leave the little campsite.

            Of course he did not go very far. In the time he had been with the Kirin Tor watcher, the mage had proven to be a horrible magnet for anything and everything bearing fang, claw, sword, spear, or spell. Just thinking about it made his irritation flare. Growling under his breath, the demon hunter sat down hard on the remains of a fallen tree. The dead wood groaned and creaked but did not collapse. A partial shelter from the rain was provided by the other trees around their fallen comrade and he finally found himself able to return to his problem.

            The mage. A watchdog of the Kirin Tor. When they had been introduced, the high elf had said Jarethien could call him Incendarian. If not for the impressive skill of flame and arcane, the name would have been utterly ridiculous. And it was clearly nothing more than a moniker to protect him from the evils of working with a demon hunter. Stupid people still seemed to think there was inherent power in their names. Only those following the path of the rogue found power in such. Demon hunters only found power in the names of their demonic enemies. Mortal ones were far swifter to deal with.

            If he chose to deal with his annoyance in such an easy manner however, there would be repercussions. And that was the very reason the Kirin Tor had leashed him and handed it to the mage. Not that he really felt that much of a collar about his throat. When he thought harder about it, he actually failed to see any form of restraint present beyond his own. Incendarian was a powerful mage. But he was a mage. A horribly world-inept, clumsy, arrogant, fumbler of a mage. The elf had no concept of stealth or evasion. More fire and explosions resulted in his presence than Jarethien had EVER caused.

            And truth be told to himself, the demon hunter did not necessarily desire the mage's death. It was the frustration speaking. The desire to just throttle the elf was still present. Powerfully present. Only by studying that impulse did he finally see why it had spawned. The mage was slow. Powerful, battle-capable, but he was constantly holding the demon hunter back. While all those spells and magical abilities made him a deadly opponent...he was incapable of keeping up with Jarethien on a hunt.

            Where the demon hunter could scale a stone wall in seconds with his powerful limbs and vicious claws, the mage had to go around. Where the demon hunter soared from rock to ground across chasms, the mage had to use a grapple. Where the demon hunter could cut circles around his quarry in the act of dispatching it, the mage had to stand stationary and spend inordinate amounts of time to cast his more powerful spells--during which the target was typically dead before those spells were finished.

            So why then, did he bother lingering? Even with the rain, he could up and continue his hunt unhindered if he chose to. Jarethien turned his head to look back to the hovel. In fact, it had taken the mage over an hour to be satisfied with a campsite and erect a shelter he deemed would be satisfactory. The pack and bedding there were conjured by him. The small comforts like warming stones were his doing. And the demon hunter needed none of it. They were worthless, burdensome accoutrements. All he required was already upon his person and game was plentiful in the Broken Isles.

            It made his annoyance fade as he thought about it. There was no grand purpose in staying with the slower elf. Most likely he would already have been facing the Leigon itself if he had abandoned his watcher days ago. He was on his feet already. The urge to go, to resume his hunt now and leave his shackles behind burned hot and fierce in his chest. It made him grin. So simple. Rain danced as his skin shuddered to cast off excess water once more. It was the solution he had been digging for and made the world seem brighter.

            Then...he paused. For a moment, the hunter made himself reconsider. Just why was the urge to leave his burden behind so appealing? Suspicion rose as he did pay momentary attention to the laughter echoing in the back of his mind. The demon had been distracted. Perhaps...too distracted. Wet leaves raised a heavy, softer rustling sound as he stepped on them, turning away from the shelter to glare out from beneath the tree boughs at the wet hills. One hand rose to fall upon the smooth bark of the tree as his talons scratched lightly at it.

            The mage was a magnet for trouble. Even the few times that Jarethien had been preoccupied on his main objectives, threats they had slipped past turned toward the soft elf. If he were to just abandon Incendarian...powerful or not, he would likely fall. It had nearly happened twice already. Had it not been for the scent of blood or the mage's cry of pain or alarm, the hunter would not be contemplating being chained back now. Then again, if he was so irritated by being held back and slowed down, why had he not just let his various prey take the mage out for him?

            Unbidden, his thoughts strayed down an entirely different path. A path he had not considered since...long before he chose to join the Illidari initiates. One that he found was just as powerful as his desire to be free of restraint--now that he had acknowledged it. But the reason for such thinking eluded him still. He...liked the mage. For all the blundering, the mistakes, the ineptitude at surviving in the wilderness rather than city walls, the mage was nice. Arrogance and failing superiority complex aside, Incendarian had not spit upon him, belittled him, betrayed him, mocked him, or cursed him.

            In fact, the elf had treated him...almost as the other Illidari did. Not the same, naturally, but similar. He had not actually complained about falling behind or being unable to do what Jarethien did. He had not apologized for anything save the occasional trip-up or accident. He had not slacked off. He had even alerted the hunter to additional threats, aided him, and questioned him only when he saw a route the hunter had not. And given he had no eyes, most of those routes were typically physical.

            Indeed. Jarethien had one hell of a headache. And it had nothing to do with the cold rain...

 

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

 

            His headache had grown progressively worse. And it was during one particularly violent throb of pain that Jarethien made a discovery. The mage was blind. He still possessed his eyes, unlike the demon hunter, but he certainly could not see with them. Then again, his ears must not have worked either. Or his ability to feel. Not that it was really that easy to miss seeing a giant ettin walking toward you. If the quaking ground did not clue you in, the smell should, or the noise of its primal garb. And even if the trees were just about as tall as the giant, given ettins pushed their way through them with crashes and snaps--how could one possibly miss it?

            Even as he attacked the worgen that had started shooting at them, he had heard it. Through the yelps and howls and roars, he had still heard the damn thing coming. Glancing over his shoulder was more habit than necessity since he had no eyes to see with. But it did help him focus his perception. And if even a blind elf had seen the ettin bearing down on them--why hadn't the mage? Instead, Incendarin had actually stood in place casting a spell. He STOOD there!

            It would have been easy to just let the ettin bring the boulder it held down and turn the mage into so much sticky paste. But, Jarethien had an issue about easy things. So instead, he abandoned his wounded quarry to rush across the distance. The mage barely had time to tense before a leather-armored shoulder struck his middle. The tackle sent them both flying although the hunter swore he felt the descending rock clip his toes. Unfortunately their landing was on less than even ground so the tackle ended in a tumble which left the mage coughing and gasping for breath.

            Jarethien was a little harder to rattle. Barely winded, he was back to all fours. One hand went to retrieve the glaive he had dropped in the effort to spare Incendarin an untimely death. It would have been a waste to save the high elf from one death just to kill him a different way the next instant. Growling with irritation at having to halt his current kill, the hunter sprang back into the fray just as the ettin started forward again to attack. Fortunately, it was easy enough to tangle the Alliance worgen into the ettin's rampage. The irony of killing two with one stone was not lost on the hunter who found himself laughing as blood flowed.

            By the time the giant was finally cut down, the mage had regained his bearings enough that he was able to aid in the finale of the battle. And when the hunter caught his breath and released the rush of adrenaline, he found that his headache was gone. For the moment. In fact, as he surveyed the bloodied and broken field of battle, he felt his laughter returning. Chuckling to himself, Jarethien moved off to one side and collapsed against the side of the mountain. Letting the rock-face support his back, he set his weapons aside and let his head fall back.

            A presence near him drew him out of his moment of simple nothingness. Without needing to actually "look", he knew it was the mage. Not bothering to pull himself up, he just watched as he caught his breath. From all appearances, Incendarin was attempting to check him over. The mage was close enough to breach personal space but far enough to avoid giving any signals he was going to touch. Polite, considerate, perhaps even worried. And his headache flared again.

            "Pay attention!" Jarethien snapped before he even lifted his head from the stone.

            It did serve to make the mage jerk in surprise. But Incendarin was far from being jumpy. Not much had managed that beyond some of the more abrupt actions from the hunter. However, something else was there, even with the flinch. That something made Jarethien wish he did still have eyes to see what expression he missed.

            "Are you injured?" came the cool question.

            Jarethien snorted at that. "Not this time."

            He realized how petty a barb that was. Still, it did make the mage flinch again. And something else made the hunter wonder just where his anger was directed. It made his head throb dully. Sitting up, he reached for his weapons, rising smoothly. There were a few tell-tale complaints from his body as he collected himself. Some of the strikes from the worgen had managed to slip past his guard. And he felt something in his right shoulder. The wound could have been from a worgen gun or from the ettin's boulder where it shattered against the rock-face in a near miss.

            "Get whatever you want from the corpses. We're wasting time," the hunter growled as he moved off.

 

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

 

            Jarethien observed quietly from the low cliff overlooking the wide inlet between the mainland and a smaller off-shoot in Stormheim. The muted roar of waves crashing on shoals only a few miles away could not completely drown out the sudden splash as a flying body hit the water. Remaining quiet, he brought up the smoked meat grasped in one hand. Sharp fangs tore another bite free to chew on slowly as he listened and waited.

            "Wall!" he heard shouted--and softly echoed via the enchanted cuff gripping his ear.

            He remained quiet save for chewing. Eventually the splashing grew more distinct. And finally, he heard the panting breaths and different splashes as the mage found ground under his feet and pulled himself out of the water. The headache faded away once more. Noting that fact, the hunter turned his head in the mage's direction to follow his progress up the rocky beach to the cliff where he sat.

            Incendarian noticed the hunter a few moments later as he was wringing water from his robes. Even a blind person was able to feel the shocked expression on the mage's face when he froze in surprise. The hunter merely swallowed the meat as the mage looked back over his shoulder to the cliff far above and behind him, then back to the hunter where he sat.

            "How did you--"

            The question broke off as Jarethien lifted his right arm to point upward and off to one side.

            "Bridge."

            A sputter came from the mage even as he turned to see the shadowy outline standing stark against the pale sky. Sure enough, a bridge spanned the gap between the two bodies of land. Nothing more was said as a sudden wave of heat exploded from the mage, instantly drying his clothes. Jarethien found himself grinning uncontrollably as he got to his feet to follow the high elf. It remained as the heat faded from the air but not from Incendarian's face.


	2. Battle-Lust

            Lack of sight was a strange thing. Where those with eyes saw color, detail, shape, motion...his world was black. Not even black really since that was still a type of color. It was a void of darkness. A void where things moved. He remembered color of course, remembered a life with sight. That lifetime of memory was what lent the vision to his perception. Motion created shape for him to grasp. Life filled the shapes in and added dimension so he could perceive form. But it was power that gave those forms color. And the color burning against the void was red.

            Red had once been the color of love. The color of blood. The color of his hair. It had been his favorite color. Just as a rose had once been his favorite flower with its heady aroma. Now it was the color of the Legion. It was the color to be snuffed out of the world. The color to turn to black. It was the color that drew his attention. But he was not a moth to the flame. He was the strike to the match. And all red would burn until the darkened ashes were consumed by the void in his sight!

            Time had no place in the perception of a demon hunter that had cornered his prey. When the quarry was discovered, all that remained was the kill. It was a drug that consumed him. Every flicker of red, every whiff of sulfur, every spark of demonic aura--it fell before him. He knew in a place far back in his mind his muscles burned with every blow. He was aware of the pain of a multitude of tiny wounds stinging and pulling every time he flipped or spun. He sensed the frantic pounding of his heart straining with his burning lungs to try and match his will's power.

            But all he heard was the sing of his glaives as the blades struck armor and flesh. All he felt was the splatter of fel blood searing his bared skin. The only thing he wanted was more. Screams of pain came from the demons he slaughtered and still it was not enough. For every red form that turned black, there was another on the edge of his vision. Another to soar down upon. Another to slice in twain. Whether it was with glaive or the wicked talons on his fingers, he reveled in the massacre--and sought more.

            Power surged through his veins. Every kill was another surge. It burned and fueled him. Nothing else mattered as his bare hand plunged into the gaping wound on a falling eredar summoner's chest to close those agile fingers about her heart. Her scream echoed in his ears as he crushed the laboring muscle in his fist. Ripping it free as her tainted blood seared the tough hide of his hand, he thrust himself back and straightened. Fangs bared, he grinned as he took just a bare moment to savor watching the red bleed from her blackening form and fade to nothing.

            Her head struck one of his feet and he callously kicked the dead weight off. Tissue gave a wet squelch as he tossed the ruined heart aside and re-summoned his glaive. It flew to his bloody palm and smacked heavily against the skin. Laughing, his wings flared as his knees bent, ready to launch him toward another prey bent on its own destruction. Nothing else mattered. This...THIS was what he had been made for! This was what he THRIVED for! This was his perfection! This was his world.

            Someone had once said that the Legion feared nothing. They were wrong. Fear permeated the air in bursts from his prey. Eredar or demon, it made no difference. In the final moments, as he tore their life and body asunder, they all felt the same. They all gave him that blast of terror and despair. So much for the immortal demon souls! Immortal or mortal, they were all alike in that one moment. All afraid, all horrified, all red. Red and burning until he snuffed the flame out.

            Then his slaughter was caught in check. As another eredar fell beneath his glaives, something struck him from behind. Flipping midair as he flew, he landed hard on all fours. Metal rang sharply where the glaives struck loose stone and sent out showers of sparks. Red closed in around him. They were massive forms, but humanoid. Somehow, five of the felguards had managed to circle him. And as the noose tightened, his grin grew.

            Launching himself forward, he drove into the nearest three. They went down in a tangle. One glaive was jerked from his grasp, the bloody hand too slick to maintain a grip when the full weight of the demon it impaled fell to the side. Letting it go, his free hand flew upward as another of the demons got a powerful arm around his throat. Talons shredded the thick hide and tore through muscle to strike the bone. The roar of pain briefly deafened him even as he arched his back and yanked downward to send the guard flying over his body at the same moment his eyes flared to unleash a blast of fel fire into the face and torso of the guard beneath him.

            In a last desperate act, the one beneath struck upward. He felt the burst of pain as something caught his side just below his ribs. Rage flared within his un-quenched thrill of the hunt as he briefly loosed the leash on his inner demon, sending his power outward in an explosion of green and black. The two that had been bearing down upon him when trapped were thrown to the ground, momentarily stunned by the force. Kicking away from the demon he had landed on, he spun to face the other two. Before any of the five could recover, his form blurred as he called his lost glaive back to hand and danced about his quarry, opening a multitude of wounds in the sudden flurry of motion.

            One red form faded into darkness. The remaining four had recovered and closed in again. But both glaives were in hand and he thrust power into them. The runes etched deep into the metal blades flared green in his vision. Throwing them outward, he sent the weapons spinning through the air in great circles. They swept around him like a cyclone, his touch brief every time they spun back only to spin them out again. Another red form fell, crumbling to ash and darkness.

            But there were other colors now. Even as the glaives flew back to his waiting hands, he vaulted backward. A small wisp of purple. A cloud barely the size of a human heart. A fragment of soul. He landed easily in a crouch, fresh blood making his bared toes slide slickly. Like a lost child, the soul fragment darted toward him, plunged past his flesh and was consumed. The throbbing pain in his side diminished and he felt his breath return as he caught his wind again. Power surged once more as the demon's soul fragment added to his own power.

            Roars of pain and rage met his ears and his grin was renewed. The three left charged. Trails of blazing green followed the sweeps of their weapons and told him he needed to be more cautious now. Fel magic was not to be ignored. Not ignored, but hardly feared either. Still at the peak of his game, he met their charge. Smoothly ducking under the wild sweeps of the felguard weapons, he came up to spin and face their backs. They were slower. Blue struck his perception and momentarily claimed his vision even as his arms jolted from the solid strike of glaive to flesh and bone.

            He only barely felt the heat of flames and missed the hard jolt of the flaming strike that impacted the ground before him. Two more red forms were snuffed out in roars of agony and that spark of terror. When his vision cleared and returned to the dark norm, only one remained. And the red was already fading. It hardly stayed his hand as he charged forward. Glaives came in, crossing the leading blades before him. He caught a deep breath at that final splash of fear as the weapons tore into the thick flesh of a solid body. Muscle bunched along his arms as he tore the glaives away from one another, their serrated edges ripping the felguard's body almost in three.

            As he consumed the final fragments of soul he had viciously cut free of his quarry, he found a moment to catch his breath. His body felt tight. The skin was hot--likely even smoking from the sudden explosion of blue. Part of his mind supplied it had been arcane-generated flame. It did not matter to him so he paid it no mind. Red flared at the edges of his vision and he lifted his head to turn toward it. More to kill. More to destroy. More to snuff out. And the thrill surged upward once more to embrace him.

            Then something caught his horns. It checked the initial motion as he started forward. Blue flickered before him. As he instinctively brought one glaive up, ready to attack, the color took on the form of an arm. It was slender, lightly muscled. Even to his senses the presence was cool rather than burning. He hesitated. This thing was not red. It was not quarry. It was not attacking. And it made him pause to try and figure out what this thing was, and why it was not red. If it was not red, it was not to be harmed. It was to be protected. The glaive lowered. Blue tugged on his horns and filled his vision with the shape of...a face?

            "Jareth!" finally came to his ears, filtering through the screams echoing in them.

            It took him another few racing heartbeats to comprehend that what he heard was a name. His name. And suddenly he came back to himself. Pain flared through his body so sharply he gasped. Falling to his knees, his wings manifested unbidden, flaring outward and beating the air sharply before crumbling back to the nether they emerged from. His head throbbed in competition with his over-worked heartbeat, dragging a groan from him.

            "Jareth! Slow down already," the mage's voice no longer echoed at least, even if it was too loud. "They're falling back."

            Wounds throbbed sharply from a variety of locations all over his body. None were overly major--those had been healed in the heat of battle every time he consumed a soul fragment or absorbed a demon's essence. But now that he was free of the battle-lust, he was fully aware of each and every one of them. His skin was hot, tight, as if he had been out in the sun too long without protection. And his head hurt. Without warning, he sagged as his over-taxed body gave up on trying to get his attention and just shut down.

            A cool body was suddenly there and cloth-covered arms were around him. One hit the recently healed blow below his ribs and he groaned. It hurt like hell, and felt good. Without thinking about it, the hunter turned his head. The curving horns narrowly missed clocking the mage who ducked. But it left Incendarian in perfect, vulnerable position for a bloodied hand to grab the back of his cowl and the hair beneath. Freezing left him open for the sudden crush of the hunter's mouth claiming his and pulling him down viciously to pry past his lips and devour him whole.

            He did not care about the tension in the mage's body. He ignored the muffled yelp of surprise released into his mouth. All he cared about as the adrenaline and rush of battle trickled away was tasting something...fresh. Blood tainted his own mouth but the mage tasted of spice and snow. It was something minty and cool blended with the warmth and comfort of baking. Pure. Unsullied by blood or ash. Something that made Jarethien forget about his aching body and pounding head as he thrust his tongue past the mage's teeth to chase the flavor.

            Only when the tension began to melt away and the mage's tongue rose to tentatively push and move against his own did the hunter regain some of his senses. But it was already nearly too late. Although Incendarian still had one arm around him for support, the mage had moved the other up to take hold of his horn again. This was...far more of a response than he was used to. It had already been made clear that the Kirin Tor watcher was not particularly on the straight and narrow but...this was different.

            The slightly bolder thrust of the cool tongue against his own disrupted his thoughts and before he even realized it, Jarethien had pulled the mage onto his lap. The weight of the solid body pressed against his aches but gave a touch more pleasure than pain. Especially given one hip was in perfect place to grind against the arousal growing from the aftermath of battle. Groaning into the willing mouth, the hunter pulled his head back. Had he eyes, they would have fallen closed when the high elf squirmed a little.

            Suddenly, the adrenaline surged again. Only it was not the murderous rage of battle. This was...something else. Something unrestrained and unfettered by intellect. A primal need that burned so swiftly and fiercely that Jarethien forgot himself. Twisting, he half bore and half jerked the mage down beneath him. Rolling onto his knees, the hunter pinned the slim figure against the ground sharply enough to knock a bit of air from his lungs. The soft grunt only made that thing inside stronger.

            Yes, the battle was won. The threat gone. He had fought, killed, bled, destroyed. Now it was time to take his prize! And in that endless moment, he fell back into that dark world. Incendarian's squirming body ignited his own as his hips thrust down to grind their groins together. Suddenly trapped, the mage was his to ravish as the kiss turned hard and vicious. Fangs parted flesh when they bit, releasing a new taste of blood. This did not burn or sear. It was rich and crisp, like that snow-crystal and baking-spice of the gasping mouth.

            Bloodied hands groped and pawed along the robed body until they found the slight masculine curve of hips. He did not pay mind to his talons as his fingers curled. Sharp points dug hard into the taut flesh beneath the cloth, bringing another gasp and slight whimper of sound from the mage. The hand shoved at his horn, trying to push his head away. Growling, he thrust down harder against the prone form. He would NOT be denied his prize for his victory! Especially not when he felt a firmness to mirror his own, only separated by layers of leather and cloth.

            Pain mingled with lust. It did not matter who it was from. The combination was intoxicating. And he left that open mouth to trail sharp bites back along the jaw. His horns narrowly missed striking Incendarian's head when he brought one hand up to rip the hood back and out of his way. Several strands of hair were ripped away with it. The yelp was as delicious as everything else to his ears as he bit a trail down the exposed throat and sank his fangs deep into the curve between shoulder and neck.

            A louder cry came from the mage as he bucked under the hunter. It brought them even closer and thrust groin against groin. But the hunter's enjoyment was suddenly halted. Not by the prickle of arcane energy forming where the high elf's hand still gripped his horn, or by the struggles of the body beneath him, or the sharper bite of flame licking against his injured side. It was halted by the robe tangled about Incendarian's legs--and pinned to the ground by the hunter's own knee. As he spat a curse within his head, his sensibilities returned hard enough to make his skull ring.

            "Fuck!" Jarethien spat along with a few drops of the mage's blood.

            Throwing himself backward, he tore away from the elf he had been about to take. Falling backward to land hard on his rear, the hunter dug his talons deep into the hard-packed earth. Panting harder than he ever had in battle, he brought his knees up to bury his face into them. Hard. Enough to feel pain. Enough to know he would have bruises on his cheekbones. Enough to jam the red leather blindfold into his empty eye sockets. Spitting curses in the demonic tongue, he turned his focus within and tore into the demon he had bound to himself. The agonized scream only partially soothed his temper.

            He accepted the pain such an attack inflicted upon himself as well. That much he deserved for letting his guard down and allowing himself to be swayed in such a manner. For good measure, he lifted his head and brought it back down hard against his knees, making his skull ring again. Then, he was twisting to gather his glaives and rise, back toward Incendarian as his muscles tensed and bunched.

            "For your own sake, don't get near me again, mage," he growled. "Let's get moving."

            His head throbbed mercilessly...


	3. Green Things

            When they had taken the job, he had figured it would be a simple in and out sort of task. After all, it was harder to take out something equal to or larger than one's own size. Little sprites were easier to punt than gnomes. Despite the fact the things were annoying, they were hardly of any real threat. But it was work and a good practice for him to pinpoint his targets. Plus, it would help the mage figure out how to _move_ away from attacks and how to _aim_. Jarethien was growing tired of being seared or frozen by spells that came too close mid-battle.

            It was an easy job. The terrain was the most difficult part really given the giant tree roots had torn the ground up. They had lifted some sections in smooth hills only to have the ground drop out from under the grass without warning. Most drops were only ten feet or so but it would still cause problems. Then there was the water. Sturdy roots had woven a tangled net under the surface, making it treacherous to try moving through too quickly. In some places there were no roots and deep pits invisible until fallen in.

            So he told Incendarian to stay on the shore. If there were sprites going into the water, the hunter would deal with them. The high elf had wanted to protest--he could tell by the stiff posture and cooler demeanor--but had relented in the end. What added some difficulty to the task however were the little fey dragons that Saylanna Riverbreeze had called "Lunarwings" when she requested their help. The sprites had begun to ape the larger humanoids in trying to turn the little lizard-things into mounts. But they were still too childish to grasp the responsibility behind the concept.

            Jarethien had taken to charging those to fall into his line of perception. Purposely, he would charge past several feet so the sprites would chase after him. It allowed the mage to come up behind and free any trapped lunarwings or collect the eggs stolen by the sprites. Eggs were typically dropped when the sprites found the demon hunter in their sights. Thankfully, they were not like bird eggs with hard shells to break when they hit the ground. The leathery orbs were not that close to hatching so landed without harm on the thick grass or plopped safely into the foot-deep water.

            They were hardly alone in the venture but it was the dwarves and draenei also partaking of the job that had his primary attention. Both of the dwarves kept just as wary an eye on him and the mage, but the tabard the other elf wore served to keep them on a leash. The draenei was a little less perceptive though and landed a blow of her mace on Jarethien's shoulder before an arcane blast sent her flying away without harm. When she saw the Kirin Tor insignia, she took herself away with a rude gesture at the demon hunter.

            It seemed all was going well as they worked deeper into the Lunarwing Shallows in search of the slightly more elusive Thistleleaf Thorndancers. Most of the winged lizards had been freed and some helped exhausted kin to escape before more sprites could chance upon them. Then Jarethien caught a shimmer at the edges of his perception. Turning toward it, he frowned and used his Sight to focus on it. Power emanated from a spot beneath the ground--or rather beneath the net of roots--outlining the shape of a chest.

            Whistling sharply, he turned his head toward the mage. Once the blue outline had shifted toward him, he gestured for the elf to follow. Spinning back around, he charged at another sprite while searching for the way to get to the underground cave. It took a few moments between careful footwork and multiple glaive tosses to get the nasty little creatures to turn their attention to him and leave the mage alone. For all that he was using fire, Incendarian was once more unfortunately drawing hostile attention like a corpse drew flies.

            Perhaps that was why the poor mage found the hole first. The loud splash and yelp clued Jarethien in on the fact. Cutting down the current Thistleleaf Ruffian clawing at his arm, he turned to the spot. Already back up for air, the high elf was sputtering and choking. Just as he jumped into the pit beside him, the demon hunter heard more rustling and cackling.

            "This one's slow! Somebody give me a dagger!"*

            "Stab it! Stab it! Hahaha!"*

            Growling, one arm shot out to throw the glaive. Using the freed hand, he caught Incendarian's shoulder to shove him down under the water. Although the mage fought at first, he caught on fast and swam down toward the underwater cave. Kicking hard, the demon hunter lunged upward to catch his glaive when it spun back. Taking the three ruffians out was a matter of moments. Then he too ducked under the water and swam downward. A blue silhouette moved past him on the way out and he continued on, knowing the mage would leave him something of value to snatch.

            By the time he had retrieved his portion of the chest's contents and resurfaced, air was his more immediate concern. Pulling himself from the water, he rested on all fours long enough to shake water off his body much like a beast would. Rising to his feet, he pushed loose locks of soaked hair away from his face. Turning, he looked around. Ears twitched as he listened. Incendarian was not there. He could find no trace of blue in the void of his vision. A flicker of pale lavender at his feet made him look down. The mage's blade was caught across three intertwined branches just beneath the surface of the water.

            Reaching up, Jarethien tapped the enchanted cuff on his ear.

            "Mage?"

            Silence. Not even a hum of the communication spell. That...did not bode well.

            "Mage!" he called louder in case there was something wrong with the magic device.

            Nothing. Just the manic laughter of a sprite in the distance and alarmed chirps from lizards. His headache was back...

 

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

 

            Something about having to slosh through cold water always made a foul mood worse. The fact that there were no targets to take that mood out on only served to compound it. He could do nothing else however as he waded back and forth from one shore to another searching for any sign of what had happened to the mage. Every single sprite had inexplicably vanished. A few lunarwings were circling higher up near the boughs of the trees. They would dart down to snatch a discarded egg when he was near enough to discourage any appearances. Nothing happened.

            The Shallows were not that large, but the tangle of roots and water did make the place disorienting. Even if he had other senses, Jarethien still hated going in circles. And regardless of his stamina, the water was really starting to get to him. How could he have lost the mage? It had barely been even one minute between having him swim by on his way back to the surface and the hunter's own resurfacing. Sprites were not that strong even in numbers. There would have been signs of a fight, bits of twig-arms or legs about, scorch marks, something other than a fallen weapon.

            His thoughts turned back to the Alliance in the area. The dwarves would have outnumbered Incendarian and seemed to be the most likely culprits able to take an elf down fast and quick. But they had been sticking to the shore rather than risk getting their shorter legs caught in the trap of water and roots. His thoughts turned to the draenei. Her rudeness toward him and the mild attack stood out, but she had been in a hurry. The posture, her actions, even her presence had told him the story of someone without patience undertaking a job just to get it over with. Somehow he doubted she would have attacked the mage. Attacked the demon hunter, yes, but not the mage.

            A whistle caught his attention. Freezing, he held his breath to better hear. It came again--from above. Tilting his head back, he fixed a muted glare at the lunarwing circling over his head. The creature back-winged for a moment then emitted the imitation of the whistle he had given earlier before it altered direction. Observing it, something the druid had said tickled his memory. Supposedly these lizards were supposed to have greater intellect than other beasts. He watched as it whistled again, dipping lower and changing direction. Muttering a curse under his breath for being stupid, he sighed.

            "Where's the mage, scale-face?"

            The thing kept circling. Growing more irritated, Jarethien snorted--then whistled on a whim. With an excited chirp, the lunarwing turned and flew off, darting back like a fey dragon then moving forward in the direction it had first taken.

            "Fel-fuckit," Jarethien spat and turned to follow the thing as it whistled and chirped softly as if encouraging him on. "I hate pests."

 

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

 

            For the first time in years, Jarethien wished he still had his actual eyes. All he could see was a moving mass of white. The shape was just a huge blob that moved and shifted with partially-glimpsed shapes familiar but lost back into the mass before he could identify them. His little guide had fled once he reached the hovel and he had heard the hissing and rustling. Following earlier habits, he had stretched out on his stomach and moved slowly forward over the grass. The mass of white was beneath him in what had to be a deep hovel under the hill he was lying on.

            Listening to the cackles of what had to be a lot of thistleleaf sprites below, he tried to pick out any other noises. The white was shot through at some points with hints of orange and pale green vastly different than the green of fel magic. Without form to base his vision on, he dared not do anything. Even when he caught the flicker of blue in the middle of the mass, he held still to wait. Traces of a pinkish color came to him as he pushed more power into his Sight. When it curved and twisted with the sparks of orange, he finally started to grasp more of the tableau. But it was the whimper and flare of blue that jerked it into focus.

            Incendarian was in the middle of that white blob. Focusing all of his irritation and temper, the hunter finally managed to make the blue fill itself out and take on the mage's form. But try as he might, he could not make sense of the other colors or shapes in the globule. Patience finally fizzling out, he raked his memory for anything that might be of use helping him figure out just what type of mess the elf was in before he charged in. Then, a plan formed. He remembered how he had gained the stronger vision he currently enjoyed--and one of the other things snatched from a fallen foe's soul.

            Lips moving in soundless words, he let the demonic tongue flow. The grass immediately near his face blackened and withered as the poison dripped free. A small emerald seed formed and grew as a crimson eye opened in the heart of the object. When the outer layer darkened to finish forming the spiked eye like that used by inquisitor demons, he caught it in one hand. Its fight was brief as his will crushed it. Merging his perception with the demonic thing, he slowly uncurled his fingers to release it. The eye faded into shadow so only a faint crimson spark remained.

            Obediently, it drifted through the air and over the edge of the grassy knoll. Bowing his head, he went still and opened his mind to the images it was relaying. For the moment--he had his eyes back once more. What he saw however, almost caused him to loose the link from pure shock. And it made sense to the single thread of logic in the back of his brain, as to why he could not see what had captured his watchdog.

            The mage was lying in the middle of over a dozen sprites. They had him completely surrounded. But even if Incendarian had tried to escape, it was impossible. Somehow they had caused thick vines to sprout from the earth and trap him the way they had been trapping the lunarwings. His arms were bound to the bowl of the back wall to leave him partially reclining while additional roots had his spread legs pinned to the ground. More root-thick vines were crawling over his body and worming into his robes.

            One of the larger sprites was clinging to the back of the elf's head with its tiny, twiggy hands over his mouth. Another sprite was standing over the mage's head in the process of winding another thick vine around his throat and mouth to form a gag. They must have realized he had to speak to cast spells. But it was the rest that had utterly shocked Jarethien. All of them were dancing back and forth chattering as they ripped at the heavy robes. With the aid of the roots, they had managed to nearly strip the cloth away.

            For all the things that he did or did not do or know, Incendarian had a beautiful body. Although his skin was quite pale, it was surprisingly flawless. With his robes open in front the sprites had wasted no time pulling and tugging them open and touching the bare flesh beneath. One had leaned in to pinch and tug at a dusky nipple. It was what made the elf whimper. His skin was crawling under the groping, clawing, clammy little hands exploring his body. Twisting and thrashing, he struggled to get away from their explorations.

            Jarethien was entranced watching the play of muscle he never suspected the mage possessed. He forgot to breathe for several heartbeats as he stared through the eye at the show below him. Between roots and sprites, the robes were finally undone and lay useless beneath the lean form. Only the sleeves remained as his arms were tightly bound in roots. A lovely flush of red was spreading over the youthful features and down his bared chest. The cool, damp air in the hovel worked with the sprite tormenting his chest as his nipples hardened under the tugs thanks in part to the temperature.

            When the clingy little hands started to yank and jerk at the belt and pants, the mage bucked hard. Several of the sprites were thrown off to land with assorted yelps and curses. Others swarmed in to take their place as one of the larger cackled and clapped. More roots sprang up to slither over Incendarian's waist and pin him fully to the ground. Hands again tugged and yanked until the belt slipped and the pants came open. The mage whimpered and moaned as he grew more flushed from embarrassment and...arousal. Despite his disgust at the touches, his body was responding.

            Remembering to breathe, Jarethien found himself taking a deep, shaky, sharp one barely smothered by the grass. Closing his eyes would hardly help things. But he was not about to loose his link to the shadowed eye either. Not when he remembered how that body felt writhing beneath his own, how the blend of cool and warm tempted him. The whimpering moans fueled the desire he had found ignited on the battlefield. Sharp fangs sank hard into his lower lip but were unsuccessful in deterring his own awakening cock.

            Sweat or moisture was beading on the mage's exposed skin as he fought. But whether it was intentional or not, the rough gropes and pinches of his captors continued to arouse his body. And despite a very tiny voice yelling in the back of his mind about his delay, the demon hunter lay still to watch. The one that had discovered Incendarian's nipple had been joined by two more as they pinched and tugged, laughing at the sounds the effort pulled from their new toy and seeing how hard the buds would go.

            Three more were on the mage's lower body. One straddled his hips and had virtually dived into his open pants. Jarethien shuddered at the yelping cry that tore from the mage. The others were straddling his thighs, riding them like bucking mounts as they helped jerk the cloth pants down. And then the hunter saw the mage's hard shaft exposed to the air. The sprite that had gotten into his pants was stroking and tugging the blood-flushed flesh. Despite himself, the high elf's hips bucked to try and thrust into the twiggy hold.

            Rustling was the only warning before several more roots rose from the ground to coil and slither their way into the loose pants from the narrow hips. It pushed the cloth down further until it caught at his knees above his bonds. The roots withdrew--or curled back upon themselves--so the tips could climb his legs and hips. Incendarian cried out as one flexible root wound around the base of his shaft and squeezed. It made the sprite poking him cackle when a drop of liquid was pushed free.

            Jarethien snapped back into himself when he realized what this was about to lead up to. Absurd and ridiculous as it was, he was beyond reasonable thought, reacting on a more base level of instinct. Pushing himself up to hands and knees, he choked back a growl. Baring his fangs, he thrust his power outward. Massive sails of flesh and bone tore free of his back with a wet ripping sound and spread in the air. None of the sprites noticed the creature on the roof of their little hovel. Those not tormenting the reddened nipples were all focused on the mage's exposed sex as they hopped around in excitement.

            What made the hunter's loins throb with painful arousal was what the observing eye showed him next as it drifted closer. The roots were shifting their grip. One was squeezing and working the cock being stroked and poked by multiple hands. But the other roots were shifting to draw the long legs further apart, bending his knees. Cloth ripped and the pants were lost as the hunter finally shook his paralysis off. Just as the mage began to thrash in his bonds, throwing away the two near his chest and slamming the one behind his head hard into the wall, the roots tightened.

            A dark blur burst into the hovel, fel flame blazing from leather-covered eyes. He was a second too late. In the instant it took for Incendarian to look at him in shock, one dark green vine pushed into him. The strangled cry of humiliation, pain, pleasure and utter desperation caught Jarethien like a lightning bolt. Roaring in fury, he tore into the sprites with his bare hands. Forgetting about tools like the glaives, he fell upon his prey like a ravening beast. Black talons sliced through spindly bodies, ripped heads from twig-necks, crushed distorted rib cages and thorny skulls.

            But through it all, he could still see through that hovering eye. Even as he laid waste to the sprites, he watched. There were no more struggles from the bound elf. Incendarian's eyes were closed tight, his face scrunched up with shame and need. And he watched as that slightly-glistening vine continued to push into the pale body. The contrast of dark green against the pale skin built his own desire. He was unable to turn his attention away. He had to see more. The eye obediently drifted close enough for him to see the way the tight ring stretched about the thickening shaft, twitching and straining as if trying to suck it deeper.

            Still, the mage writhed against his bonds, but his hips were pressing down to meet the invader. There were twisting undulations from the root as it moved itself much like a tentacle might. And Jarethien was caught for a moment just watching the plant swell just inside the ring to pull itself in deeper like a worm would, stretching his mage open wider. It had to have struck that perfect spot inside because Incendarian threw his head back against the sprite still holding the gag in place and released a wanton moan of need. The demon hunter snapped.

            Everything else fell away in a sudden explosion of flame. He was deaf to the agonized screams of the dying sprites as they burnt to cinders. All he felt was the roots in his hands as he ripped them out of the ground and off the elf's shuddering form. Wings struck the cold packed earth of the hovel's ceiling only to drag the claws on the primary joint forward. Chunks of damp earth rained around them, bouncing off his wings. Then his hands had those narrow hips as he fell to his knees between the splayed thighs.

            Leaning in, his glare burned hotter as he caught the blue glow from the high elf's tear-flooded eyes. Words were beyond him. One wing dipped and tore away the root binding one arm. Then he had his belt open and leggings down to free his own hard length. He fit perfectly in the cradle of the mage's body. But there was something in the way. Snarling, Jarethien reached under to grab the vine and rip it from ground and flesh. It made the trembling body arch and another gag-muffled cry come from the sensation of being emptied so suddenly after barely being prepared for such a stretch in the first place.

            Jarethien paused as the roar of his harsh breaths filled his ears. Staring down, he wondered just when Incendarian had become "his mage". Then the free arm still shrouded in the sleeve of his useless robes rose to wind around his neck and pull him closer. The hunter forgot to think and instead thrust. It was agony and ecstasy when the pre-slicked head of his cock found the twitching ring to plunge into the violated body. His ears filled with the muffled scream of painful pleasure from the mage clinging to him. Long legs were around his hips, pulling him down even as the ravished elf thrust up to take him to the root.

            Gasping, he lost himself in that straining body. Falling into the primal pace of rutting, he tightened his grip on the angles of those hips to push them back, only to jerk up as he began to thrust into the grip of Incendarian's body. Whimpers, moans, whines, and groans spurred him on as he took all of his frustration, all of his anger, all of his irritation, all of his lust, all of his need out on the willing body pinned to the earth beneath him. Even that spark of fear when he had found the Kirin Tor elf missing was unleashed.

            He had no clue when he bit down, but his fangs found the same spot they had on another field of battle weeks before. Blood flooded his mouth as a cry of desire broke around the gag. One more thrust and he nearly lost his grip on the mage as the elf screamed in ecstasy, spilling himself almost violently between their bodies. Caught in that crushing grip, Jarethien broke away from the curve of shoulder and throat to roar his own completion as he released into the hot body nearly crushing his own cock. The last thing he knew before oblivion claimed him was the sound of his own voice as his wings closed around their bodies.

            **" _Mine_."**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * denotes actual lines from NPC's in the game.


End file.
